


Prologue

by Rational_Drunk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Crack, Humour, M/M, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rational_Drunk/pseuds/Rational_Drunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prologue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

_Prologue: Oh Deer_

* * *

_Prologue: Oh Deer_

**http://archiveofourown.org/works/3210746/chapters/6984473 <\- Main story here**

The darkened figure dashed through the night, his desperate gasps for air drowned by the cicadas's song, a haunting melody icily orchestrated by the quivering moon-soaked leaves. No one knew why he was in such a hurry, nor could they possibly presume to know, for what matters of urgency could be so pressing as to-

-the shadow fell backwards as his sneakers slid in a puddle of what was hopefully mud, and with a cry and a fanciful twirl that would have earned him enthusiastic plaudits from the most punctilious of ballerinas, he landed with a resolute thud on the forest floor; the echoing slap of his ass being subjugated by gravity falling on the deaf ears of stoically unimpressed cicadas, glassy wings coruscating imperiously a moonlit silver and glittering in the similitude of earthly stars.

" _Ow._ "

Groaning, Stiles fell onto his back; then yelped in pain. He reached under his head and extracted a pebble the size of a walnut.

Stiles was beginning to think that this was a really bad idea.

Too bad it was his own.

~(TnT)~

* * *

~(TnT)~

"Scott, calm down," said Peter; who was, unsurprisingly, woefully ignored.

"I can't  _believe_ that you didn't even  _tell_  me about this!" Scott expostulated; his hands flying everywhere, casting rapidly shifting phantasms over the charred wooden boards. "I mean, there's an alpha pack? And how did they find out about you?  _Hell_ , why are they even  _here_? "

"First off, I'm not obligated to tell you anything, since  _you_ , as you so kindly pointed out, are not a part of my pack." Derek sounded rather irritable, so Stiles surmised that the alpha was still pissed off over the whole mountain-ash-pills incident. Typical sourwolf.

"And secondly," Derek's exasperated voice crashing Stile's train of thought. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you  _don't know_? You've been preparing for this for  _months_! And by—"

" _I_ know," said Peter vapidly, obviously deathly bored by the conversation. All three heads turned to stare, the collective attention eliciting a soft chuckle from the man that Stiles was pretty sure should be  _dead_.

Peter beamed, "Haha, just kidding. I don't really know either."

Boy, if looks could kill.

Derek was the first to recover. "It's as Peter says, we don't know." Scott looked just about ready to explode, but Derek didn't give him the chance to speak. "But what we  _do_ know is that it's the only alpha pack in the country, and that they have been hiking through New Mexico, Arizona, and then California for the past few months. Basically, we're in the alpha pack's itinerary, and judging from the mark vandalized onto my front door…"

The alpha took a deep breath. "They're already here."

The effect on the room was immediate. It was almost as though someone had snuck in and turned the already non-existent heat down by several notches;  _burr_ , Stiles's hands were hypothetically freezing from the hypothetical cold.

"Err. . . guys?"

Isaac was standing in the hallway, confusion writ large upon his face.

"Sorry I'm late, but I had to sign some papers for school."

"Right," Derek coughed, clearing his throat. "I was briefing McCall about what we know of the alpha pack."

"Which is nothing," added Isaac, tentatively taking a seat.

"The alphas have a history of being unpredictable. Beyond the spiral, which means that they mean business, we have no clue as to  _what_  business it is - though I doubt that it's friendly. And without any inside information. . ."

Isaac finished his sentence for him. "We can't brace ourselves against whatever it is that they're going to do."

The room stilled as the frosty silence settled once more.

 _Jesus, werewolves and their fondness for abject, hopeless subjection_ , thought Stiles as he wiped his hands on his slacks. "Do we know where these alphas are?"

There was something different in Stiles's voice, something that made him sound less jocular than usual and somewhat more... authoritative; and it was that something that turned Derek to stare, intently, unsure of where the room's only human was going with this. "Why?"

"I've got an idea." Stiles's throat was suddenly a little dry. "So do we know where they are, or not?"

(o.O)?

* * *

(o.O)?

And  _that's_  how Stiles ended up  _here_ ; on the forest floor, sporting a growing bump on the back of his head with one hand clenched around the offending rock, and the other covered in what'd better be mud.

Life's a bitch.

Stiles was finally considering getting off the ground when he heard leaves rustle; at first, he wondered if it was just the wind, when the ground pressing against his back trembled... but oh so very slightly, that Stiles wasn't even sure if he felt it, or just imagi—

 _Footsteps_.

Oh.  _Crap_.

He held his breath, figuring that whoever, or  _what_ ever it was couldn't sense him if he just lay still. The undergrowth and foliage around here is thick; so if he were lucky, he wouldn't be noticed.

_Rustling. More footsteps._

_The trick_ , Stiles thinks,  _is to consciously regulate your breathing and pulse. Take a nice, long deep breath_. No,  _not too loud_. Next, he should work on thinking of peaceful, happy things.

He immediately drew upon the time his dad brought him to the butterfly farm, where the sheriff belatedly discovered an unusual phobia. Tragically enough, father and son are banned from Jeremy's Butterfly Farm for life, because firing shots at apparently bloodthirsty butterflies and nearly taking off the farm owner's head is an immediate red card.

Stiles snickered.

 _Oops_.

The footsteps paused for a heartbeat before resuming their pace; the stranger was headed this way.

_Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap._

Okay,  _don't panic_. What do people in the movies do in situations like these? They freeze shock still, sweat a lot, and pout.  _Right_ , tried that, didn't work out too well, and the footsteps are closing in on him by the second. What  _else_? Right, they whip out a gun and—nope, no gun, and no light-saber either. Or maybe there's some other weapon, perhaps something within reach, something at hand. . .

Two glowing embers stared down into his eyes.

_"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

Stiles threw the pebble into the stranger's face, backing away frantically across the mossy ground even as the red eyes narrowed in pained confusion. He struggled to lift himself to his feet; failing again and again as panic and mud robbed him of woefully missed friction; leaving both the now silent cicadas  _and_  his malevolent harbinger of impending doom sorely unimpressed. The figure shifted, the darkness proving light an unnecessary device to convey a scowl.

Derek stepped out into the moonlight, and as the silvery luminescence shone down softly upon his face, Stiles saw that it isn't a happy face. At all.

Stiles bit down on his tongue as he fought the irrational urge to start screaming again.

"Stiles?" The voice was measured, contained… barely.

"Derek! Err. . . hi?" said Stiles with a nervous smile. Derek didn't smile back.

"What are you doing in the middle of the woods?"

"I was kind of taking a shortcut. What are  _you_  doing here anyway, hunting for rabbits? Dancing around naked under the moonlight?  _Fly fishing_? Or were you. . .  _stalking_  me?" Stiles smiled winsomely. Derek's eyes hardened.

"Their den is downtown.  _This_. . . is not downtown," said Derek.

"A laudable deduction, most certainly befitting of an alpha mind. Bravo, Derek," Stiles started clapping, his applause and admiration the only sounds echoing throughout the night. " _Bravo!_ "

Derek wordlessly lifted the back of his moonlit hand. Stiles eyed it curiously, then blanched as it sprouted a row of viciously glinting claws like a razorblade toaster oven.

"I repeat. What are you doing here? Are you  _running away_?" Derek paused, his eyes narrowing. "No. . . as much of an idiot as you are ( _hey!_ ), I think that you're just too stupid to be afraid. Or is this a part of yet  _another_  plan that I'm  _unaware_ of?"

Derek spat out the last sentence, his eyes flashing a smouldering red. Boy _, does this guy have letting go issues._

"Okay, I—would you  _please_  tuck those nail extensions away? They're distracting.  _God_." Stiles squeezed his forehead, driving a thumb into his right temple. "Here's the thing. My truck is, as you very well know, in the car nursing home at the moment, so I had to walk all the way to the alphas' den.  _Walk_. No thanks to you, of course. There I was, all ready to put my  _ass_  on the line for you and you didn't even  _think_ to offer me a ride in that fancy car of yours. In fact, if you ask me, that lack of gratitude right there is a fine example of why you fail as an alph—( _a_   _growl_ ) Okay, okay! You're such a  _sourwolf_." Stiles grimaced, then continued. "I was taking a shortcut through the woods' southern edge, because, you know, I was  _walking._  There I was, moving along, minding my own business, when I thought I heard something and I saw this. . . err, this. . ." Stiles trailed off uncertainly.

"Saw what, exactly?" Derek asked, impatient.

"A chimera. A huge, fire-breathing chimera with venomous lamprey fangs and a scorpion tail and a mane of hissing snakes and a patch over its eye like a pir—"

"Stiles. . ."

"It was a vampire! Yeah, but not the lame sparkly kind like the one from Twilight,  _this_  one had a cool cape and an accent and it turned into a bat and it started f—"

"Stiles—"

"It was my chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris! He—"

"Stiles!" Derek snapped, his eyes a pair of burning coals.

"It was Bambi," Stiles said quietly.

"What?"

Stiles stared determinedly at his feet.

"A fucking deer. I don't know why, maybe it's because I didn't cry when Bambi's mom died or something; but it just honest to God  _glared_  at me and started chasing me." Stiles scratched his forehead, his arm obscuring his face. "Then I got lost because it was already too dark to make out any of the tracks. There, are you  _happy_  now?"

Derek gawked at him with a look that clearly said: _you're an idiot._

"Whatever, I'm just completely worn out right now, and it's too late anyway so I'll just go tomorrow." Stiles groaned, and he wasn't sure if it was from the exhaustion or embarrassment, or possibly a combination of both. What he  _knew_ was that he just wants to go home, collapse into his bed and sleep it all off. The only problem was, the ground here feels mighty comfy.

Stile propped an arm under his head, and fell back on to the forest floor; this time, intentionally.  _Hmm, there's a VIP view of the stars here_.  _Not too shabby._

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, want flashing briefly across his face. Stiles, being Stiles, didn't notice.

"Maybe you bigshot alphas don't need it anymore, but we humans occasionally have to do this curious little 8 hour activity every day. I'm not really  _sure_  if you've ever heard of it before, but it's called  _sleeping_."

"In the middle of the forest?" Derek asked skeptically.

"Yeah, got a problem with that?"

"Bambi might."

Stiles seemed torn, then steeled. "I'll take my chances."

"Get up."

"No."

Stiles watched silently as the alpha padded across the forest floor, finally slowing to a towering halt at his feet.

"I can't leave you here. Now get up."

"Make me. Wait _what the f—_ "

And that is how Stiles wound up in Derek's arms, fists raining a slew of tragically ineffectual blows on the werewolf's steely chest; his body bobbing up and down like driftwood with every step that his captor took.

He should have been upset with this crippling emasculation; but the sad and sorry truth is that, after tonight, he just can't be sure if he even  _had_  any machismo left to be emasculated. . . and he was just far too tired to care. The anger Stiles felt at being manhandled and carried patronizingly like a naughty child was fading away, every movement rocking his body gently, and carefully, like a newborn babe. He should find the close proximity invasive, but it felt safe instead; Derek's strong arms beneath him and his musky scent instilling within him an unbelievably soothing sense of security. He attempts at one last wriggle, but his captor's chest was just far too seductively warm and comfortable for even Houdini to possibly escape. . .

As Stiles started snoring against his chest, the corners of Derek's lips slowly curled upwards in the day's first smile.

~TBC~

* * *

~TBC~

Notes:

This is the prologue to The Reluctant Property of Derek Hale. I didn't like it much at all, so I removed it from the main series, and left it up here for reference.

**http://archiveofourown.org/works/3210746/chapters/6984473 <\- Main story here**


End file.
